


A Wonderful Christmastime

by starbuckmeggie



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Cute, F/M, Family, Family Fluff, Fluff, Holiday, Kids, Post Series, Santos Administration, holiday fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:54:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21943219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbuckmeggie/pseuds/starbuckmeggie
Summary: Josh and Donna at the end of the Santos Administration, celebrating the holiday with their kids, and wondering What's Next.
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	A Wonderful Christmastime

I let out a breath and flop onto the couch, rubbing my temples. The sound of two squealing children pierces my brain, but I can’t help but smile at it anyway. It’s an odd contradiction, being a parent—all I want is a little bit of quiet but I absolutely love my kids and most of their noises. Them being happy makes me happy. Of course, it’s late enough in the day that either one of them could melt down—and over the littlest thing, naturally—but all the excitement of Christmas Eve has them really riled up. Probably more Becca than Hannah, but Becca’s good at getting her sister excited. Josh and I are left to deal with the fallout.

Speak of the devil. Josh appears from the downstairs office, his hair standing up a little more than usual, the auburn locks suddenly looking extremely white around the edges. He’s still sexy as hell, he’s just looking a little older. Two small children will do that to you, not to mention this past election cycle was hard on him. It was hard on all of us.

After four consecutive democratic presidential terms, the republican right had whipped themselves into a conservative frenzy, rallying in alarming numbers around any loud voice/old white man arguing about family values, the “good old days,” “simpler times,” and that progress was the devil. Personally, I was still confused as to how progress is considered bad since most of those voices were using devices born of progress to spew their hate, but anyway.

Josh was torn when it came time to find a new candidate—to begin with, he found the available field to be full of moderates and centrists, which didn’t excite him, not to mention he couldn’t convince Sam to run. I refused him, too. Even if I had those ambitions, I have zero experience in public office, and we have two very small children that I wanted to be around. They were another monkey wrench in Josh’s search for a candidate—when the time came around to seriously try finding someone he could believe in, Hannah was almost one and Becca nearly three. Josh was already knee-deep in guilt over missing big chunks of their short lives and didn’t want to miss even more with being on the road campaigning for a year. He was burnt out and I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t have the stamina for it, either. As much as I want the world to be a better place for our girls, I also didn’t want to drag them across the country and force them to live in hotel rooms. It was a rough spot to be in but we both knew we couldn’t always be the ones to track down the real thing—we worked with enough people with enough good instincts that we could pass the torch and let them handle things. I know they tried. The effort was made, but there just wasn’t a candidate strong enough to go up against the right’s need for a republican president. The only part of that either of us could be grateful for was that they’d managed to get the extreme crazies out in the primaries, leaving them with someone who I’d never vote for but at least wasn’t trying to completely revert the country back a hundred years. My kingdom for an Arnold Vinick.

So, we tried to get the most out of what was left of the Santos administration. It was also strange and painful to realize that this would likely be the first time neither of had worked in the White House for the better part of two decades. We tried not to give up entirely but even by this past summer the writing was on the wall and we had a pretty good idea of what would happen in November. Fortunately, neither of us was hurting for job offers in the private sector, many of which were willing to wait for us to leave office. In the meantime, we took the girls to Florida to visit Josh’s mom, then dragged them to Wisconsin for Thanksgiving. We bought a house. We thought we’d be okay in the apartment for a while after Hannah was born but we were soon bursting at the seams. Suffice it to say, we’ve been trying to live our lives and carry on as if the man in office isn’t kind of interested in regulating my body along with all the other women in the country. I think we can do a lot of good in the private sector and hopefully pave the way for someone better in four years. Fingers crossed.

“Everything all right, hon?” I ask, though I can tell he’s a little on edge. The noise our kids make tends to do that. They’re in rare form today, too.

“I don’t think Santa visits little girls who put their candy canes on Daddy’s desk.”

I cringe, imagining how sticky that must have been when he inevitably put his hand in it. “Josh, don’t threaten them. They’re still little.”

He makes a face at me then looks at the girls, their eyes wide as they stare up at him. He didn’t raise his voice in the slightest but neither of them likes to disappoint Daddy. It’s actually really sweet just how much they adore him, and I can see him melt under their gaze. He squats down in front of them, smiling. His patience with them is very long, and he adores them, too. “Hey, kiddos. Remember what we talked about? It’s okay to play in the office but you need to keep your food out of it, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy,” Becca answers, grinning at him with her dimpled cheeks.

“Kay, Daddy,” Hannah chirps, her voice tiny and high-pitched. “No Santa?”

Becca’s lower lip juts out, her eyes going even wider. “Santa’s not coming? Were we bad?”

He shoots me an alarmed look over their heads. I lift an eyebrow at him—he’s the one that brought Santa into this, he can work his way out of it on his own.

He sighs and sits down on the floor, the girls immediately falling into his lap. “No, you weren’t bad. I shouldn’t have made you think that. That Santa thing was just a rumor Daddy heard.”

“I good!” Hannah exclaims. “Daddy, I good!”

“Of course you are, Banana. You’re very good.”

“Me, too?” Becca asks, her lip still quavering.

“No question about it, Beck.” He wraps his arms around them, planting kisses on their foreheads. It makes my heart melt. I grab my phone off the coffee table and take a couple of quick pictures of them. Our parents will absolutely love it.

I have to admit, we have pretty great kids. They absolutely have their moments—moments that make me wonder why we ever thought having children would be a good idea—but they’re terribly sweet for the most part. Since Becca’s a couple weeks shy of her fourth birthday, she feels very grown up and insists on trying to teach Hannah all the things she knows. Hannah is two and thoroughly enmeshed in the terribleness of it all, so this isn’t always successful. That said, they have a way of bonding that I don’t understand and doesn’t include me, and as long as they don’t kill us or each other, I leave them to it.

Admittedly, they’ve been trying our patience today—the last few days, really—but I can’t even blame them for it. They’ve been hit with a double-barreled assault of Christmas and it’s all they can focus on. They care not at all that today is the last day of Chanukah. I don’t remember it being this bad last year but something must have clicked for Becca and I think Hannah caught her enthusiasm. Since it’s their last Christmas in the White House, the Santos family has been going all out, making sure to include our kids in all of it. Granted, all of the Santos’ think of our girls as family so they’ve never been excluded but this year has been something else. It’s also the first time Josh and I have had a lot of space to decorate and we may have gone a little crazy, too. Josh may have been able to claim ignorance about the holiday back when we first got together but now he’s an expert. He really enjoys celebrating both holidays and risked life and limb to string lights up all over the outside of our house. Scared the hell out of me. He doesn’t know it yet but either we’re going to hire professionals to take them down, or they’re staying up until next year.

So, between our house being a veritable winter wonderland for the girls, the holiday festivities at the White House for the last several weeks, and the fact that they got to spend more time with Santa today at work than most kids do in a lifetime, they’re hyped. It’s a good thing our parents aren’t here this year because they spoil the kids rotten and somehow encourage their hyperactivity. As it is, they’ve all sent far too many presents, all of which we’ve had to keep hidden because neither of them have that kind of self control…nor does their father. He wiggles more than they do at the sight of gift wrap.

The girls are probably about ten seconds away from certain doom; it’s past their bedtime but we’ve been running behind this whole day. In addition to our regular jobs, having the kids with us at work always slows things down and since they were decked out in their most sparkly Christmas outfits, everyone wanted to talk to them and, since most of the people we work with have known them since birth and might not see them again after January, take pictures. It was hard to get anything done or to get it done in a reasonable time. That meant dinner got pushed back, which meant bath time got pushed back, and now they’re running on fumes. Settling down has not been something interests them and it’s obvious that holding Santa over their heads—even to tell them he only comes when they’re sleeping—will only end badly for us.

“I think it’s time for bed,” Josh says softly, his eyes peaking at me over the top of Hanna’s head. I swear he’s talking more about the two of us than the kids, but I agree wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, we probably have a couple of hours ahead of us. Mostly dragging presents out of their hiding places and arranging them artfully. The artful part of it is only for my edification—no one else notices.

“Daddy,” Becca whines, but it’s half-hearted.

“I not tired, Daddy,” Hannah insists, though I can tell by the way she’s snuggled against Josh’s side that she’s actually about five minutes from dreamland.

“Do you want to put out the milk and cookies for Santa?” I ask softly, hoping we can keep them sleepy and get them to bed with little trouble.

Hanna’s head pops up and she turns to look at me, her eyes suddenly wide. “Cookies?”

“For Santa,” I answer. “He needs them, too. You can have some cookies tomorrow, okay?”

“Kay, Mommy,” she answers, reaching her arms up to me. I lift her up, holding her against my side.

“Wow, Hannah Banana, you’re getting so big,” I tell her. She is, too—she’s a solid little kid.

“I know,” she answers with a giggle.

Josh stands, too, bringing Becca with him; she tolerates it for the time being. According to her, she’s a big girl and doesn’t need to be carried. She’s fiercely independent. Considering how much convincing Josh and I had to do just to get her to walk and talk few years ago, I sort of figured she’d always be a little clingy, but she’s definitely a leader. I don’t entirely know if that would have been her personality regardless or if being a big sister is what’s brought it out in her but she’s definitely a take charge sort of kid.

We take them into the kitchen and pull out the special plate and glass we bought for the big guy, both girls quiet as I pour the milk. They both squeak a little when I pull out the plate of cookies we all made a few days ago and I immediately give Josh a look—he’ll fold like a cheap suit if the girls so much as bat their eyes at him. It’s not so much I mind them having a cookie, even if they’ve already brushed their teeth, but it never stops at just one. One turns into half a dozen which turns into belly aches and often one or both of us up with them all night as they puke. Our kids are cute and conniving and it’s all too easy to give into them.

Josh gives me a guilty look before pressing his lips to the side of Becca’s head. She sighs, leaning into him, and it makes my heart flutter. It’s moments like this that are why we have phones and computers and albums full of pictures of our kids. We are definitely _those_ people.

Before we can juggle the kids and the goodies, Becca starts to wiggle in Josh’s arms. “I can do it.” He puts her down and she holds out her hands. He gives me a quick look and I nod, not protesting as he puts the plate of cookies in her hands.

“I do, too!” Hannah exclaims, wiggling against me. She’s always eager to do what her sister is doing—that would explain why she started speaking at nine months, taking her first wobbly steps around the same time. Hannah has felt like she’s playing catch up since the moment she was born.

“How about you walk _very carefully_ with Becca and Mommy will bring the milk?”

She sighs. “Fine.” I put her down, looking at her with something between shock and amusement. I’m not sure where she picked that up—even Becca doesn’t have that kind of attitude yet—but my money would be on Miranda Santos. She loves our girls and always offers to watch them and is mostly a good kid, but she’s definitely entering the angsty teenage years. Still, she shows no attitude as she follows her sister so I let it slide until I hear it again—it’s not a battle worth fighting tonight.

Josh rubs my back for a few moments and we gather our wits as we follow them back to the living room, where they’re carefully placing the plate on our coffee table. Josh yanks his phone out of his pocket and starts taking pictures of them. Having kids has done wonders in making Josh moderately more tech savvy. He really didn’t care much before, but when it comes to them, he’ll do whatever needs to be done.

I put the glass of milk down with the cookies and hear him say, “Girls, how about a couple of pictures with Mommy?”

He would. We’ve already done the matching pajamas picture, a tradition my parents will not let die, and the two of us have already switched them out for less horrifying clothes. When Hannah asked why, Josh told her that Mommy and Daddy are too messy to be trusted. She seemed to believe it and since Josh is good for spilling food, I’m not surprised. Fortunately, the girls love their new jammies and were actually excited to wear them to bed. We have plans to take a couple more family shots in the morning but Josh is forever making me pose with them. Not that I’m opposed to being in pictures with my kids, but all I really need is to see _them_.

They beam up at me, though, and it’s not like I can deny them. I don’t know how long it’ll last, but for now my daughters really seem to love me so I’ll take it where I can get it.

I kneel in front of the tree and hold out my arms, the girls immediately flocking to me and pressing against my sides. I love them so much I ache. It’s such a cliché to say, but it’s cliché for a reason. They can be unholy terrors at times but they’re still somehow utterly perfect. They got the best parts Josh and I had to offer.

“Say ‘trees!’” Josh exclaims, making the girls laugh.

“It’s _cheese_ , Daddy,” Becca explains, sounding like a tiny adult.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” she answers, giggling.

“Don’t you think ‘trees’ sounds an awful lot like ‘cheese’?” he asks, holding his phone out in front of him in a way that makes me sure he’s filming us and not just waiting to take the picture. Granted, our kids tend to say the oddest, silliest things at the most random moments—it’s great when we can capture them.

“Trees ‘n’ cheese!” Hannah exclaims with a laugh. “Trees ‘n’ cheese, trees ‘n’ cheese, trees ‘n’ cheese!”

Becca bursts out laughing. “Hannah’s so silly!”

I swear Hannah’s face lights up—Becca’s never cruel and rarely indifferent to her sister, but Hannah loves when her sister approves of her anyway. Plus, Hannah is silly.

“Okay, then, take your pick,” Josh says with a laugh. “Trees or cheese. One, two, three.”

“Trees!” we all answer, their laughter loud in my ears. Josh makes us pose for far too long but the girls eat it up, pushing aside their exhaustion for the sake of their vanity. They actually love getting their picture taken. Makes sense, since we’ve been doing this to them their whole lives.

“Girls, I think Mommy needs kisses,” Josh prompts them and they immediately pucker their lips. For the moment, they’re both very affectionate and even though Josh can go over the top with picture taking, and even more pictures of me kissing my kids is probably excessive, I’m not about to refuse them. I always remind myself that there’ll probably be a point where they _don’t_ want to hug and kiss me and they _don’t_ want to be in a picture with me. I’ll take my squishy little girls as long as they’ll let me squish them.

After I kiss them I grin up at Josh, who looks way too emotional for the moment. “I think we need Daddy in our pictures. What about you two?”

“Trees, Daddy!” Hannah exclaims, bouncing just a little too hard and I know we need to get her to bed soon.

Becca laughs at her sister and Josh grins as he sits on the floor with us. He holds out his arm, fumbling with the phone as he tries to switch to the front facing camera. For as much as he’s advanced with technology in the last few years, it can still stymie him. He could handle the whole selfie thing with a real camera but doing it on a cell phone has been a constant source of confusion and irritation for him.

I grab his phone and adjust it so we’re all in the shot, snapping a few pictures for posterity. Truth be told, pictures like this are some of my favorites. We’ve done a couple of professional sessions with the kids—and the kids always look great—but the four of us almost always _look_ posed. Things like this, at home in front of our tree, look like we’re so happy just to be around each other.

“Okay, small people. It really is time for bed,” Josh announces. The girls make noises of protest but Becca shuffles to the stairs, waiting patiently for someone to open the gate for her. Hannah holds out her arms to be carried and Josh happily obliges. She’s not great with stairs yet when all cylinders are firing so when she’s sleepy, climbing up or down stairs can really throw her for a loop. Plus, like me, Josh wants to hold onto them—literally and figuratively—for as long as he can. Our independent, bull-headed child, however, grabs onto the railing and takes the stairs one at a time. She really is bound and determined to do as much on her own as possible. I love her determination, which Josh says she gets from me, even though it makes me sad to watch her grow.

“Daddy?” a sleep little voice asks.

“Yes, Hannah Banana?”

“Please read sugar plums bouncing?”

We both pause at that one, trying to decipher it. Book titles are not her forte yet.

“She means _Twas The Night Before Christmas_ ,” Becca explains, never pausing in her steady climb. The kid amazes me.

“Of course I will,” he answers, our youngest snuggling herself against him. Becca leads the way into their room—they started sharing at the apartment and it didn’t occur to us to put them in separate rooms once we moved. They don’t seem to be bothered by it. We’ll see how long it lasts.

Becca climbs into her bed and as Josh goes to put Hannah into hers, she starts to wiggle. “I wanna sleep Becca.”

Josh lifts his eyebrows at me in question but I immediately turn to Becca. “It’s up to you, sweetie. It’s your bed and you get to choose if you want to share it or not.” Truth be told, I’ve read a _lot_ of books about parenting. I’ve asked people questions and I’ve done online research. It’s hard. It’s hard to know the right choices to make and it’s hard to help them figure things out on their own. But one of the things I remember from my childhood that bothered me was sharing things because we were “supposed” to, not because we wanted to. I do understand that it’s not always black and white but occasionally, one of my brothers or I would earn something—either at school or by helping someone out—and far too often we were forced to share it with the others, which never sat right with me, even then. So, we’ve been working really hard with the girls to teach them they have rights, even when it’s something like this. Becca shouldn’t have to share her bed just because Hannah demands it. It’s a struggle for us because Josh and I grew up so differently that we have to unlearn a lot of things even as we teach them new things. Like hugging people, even relatives. I never knew this was a thing until I had kids of my own. Generally, my kids are affectionate and are always ready to hug someone, but we’re trying to let them know it’s a choice they can make. Not a choice Josh or I ever had. There was always some overbearing aunt that wanted to give you a big juicy kiss whether you wanted it or not.

Of course, it immediately sends up red flags if they’re opposed to hugging someone and it always leads to a conversation of why they don’t want to, if it makes them uncomfortable, things that feel too grown up for my babies to worry about but stuff that, as a parent, I _have_ to worry about.

“Yeah, and Hannah,” Josh says, taking my lead. “Do you think we should ask Becca if you can sleep in her bed instead of demanding it?”

Hannah scrunches up her little face as she thinks about it. “Becca? I sleep you?”

“Okay,” Becca answers immediately, scooting over so there’s room for her sister. It’s all I can do to not melt completely. Hannah snuggles next to her sister and Josh tucks them in, settling next to their shared pillow. He grabs the already worn copy of the aforementioned poem off the shelf next to the bed as I sit down near their feet. We can both recite the story without any help but the girls get livid when we try—they even know when we’re not turning pages at the right time. The nighttime book ritual is not a battle I’m not willing to fight so we just play along.

I don’t even listen as Josh reads, opting instead to watch their little faces fight sleep for all of maybe two minutes before they’re down for the count. Josh keeps reading for another couple of minutes, his voice getting softer and softer just to make sure they’re really asleep—we’ve fallen for that before—but the only sound from the girls is deep breathing.

With no small amount of difficulty, we pull ourselves off the tiny bed, leaning down to kiss their foreheads and make sure they’re tucked in snuggly. Their long eyelashes brush against their cheeks, their chests rising and falling almost in tandem. They’re so beautiful it hurts. Before we get sucked into watching them sleep for another hour, we make sure their nightlight is on before pulling the door mostly shut behind us. We secure the gate at the top of the stairs and make our way back down to the living room. They’re still too little to snoop so most of their presents have been stashed in the lower part of the house, making our lives marginally easier.

Still, as much as I’d like to get everything done and go to sleep, I want to spend just a few minutes with my husband, something I don’t get to do a lot of these days. Plus, we have our private gift exchange to take care of, a holdover from our second Christmas together. Even though my parents send our holiday pajamas gift-wrapped—and opening them on Christmas Eve more than appeases the girls—Josh has not been satisfied with it and says it doesn’t count. So, when it’s just the two of us, we still exchange one present each. It’s a nice little tradition we have, one that makes us both happy and reminds us, especially now, that we’re still a couple and not just parents.

I flop down on the couch, letting out a whoosh of breath. “Okay—gimme.” I hold out my hands, demanding my gift in a way that would never be acceptable from one of my daughters.

“Hang on a second.” He sits down next to me and pulls me into his arms, kissing me slowly. “Hello, Mrs. Lyman,” he whispers when we come up for air.

“Well, hello, Mr. Moss,” I tease, pulling his lips back to mine. I don’t think it’s the first time I’ve kissed him today but I couldn’t say for sure. It’s definitely the first time I’ve paused to enjoy it. Intimacy has gotten easier for us as the girls started mostly sleeping through the night. Hannah still has her moments but Becca is usually out for the night once she settles down. We usually have too much work or new house stuff to do in the evenings to really enjoy it but…we find time. After January, our work schedules are going to be much more like normal people’s so I don’t know what we’re going to do with all the free time.

More of this, I hope.

We pull apart again, slowly, both of us breathing heavy. It’s probably about as close to sex as we’ll get tonight but I’ll take what I can get. Kissing Josh never offends me.

“Do we have a few minutes?” he asks. “I know there’s a lot to do but I feel like we’ve hardly seen each other for the last week or so.”

I let out a sigh and settle against him, gazing at our twinkling tree, the menorah Josh’s mom gave us years ago just beyond it in the front window. I know I personally can’t indulge in this for more than a few minutes because I will definitely fall asleep. Still, it feels so nice just to sit here like this that I don’t know if I ever want to move.

“The girls look so much like you,” he mumbles suddenly.

“I don’t know—I see a lot of them in you, too, babe.” We’ve had this conversation a million times but it doesn’t seem to get old. Our children fascinate us and trying to see ourselves in their ever-changing faces and personalities is a game we’re always ready to play.

“No, I’m serious.” He shifts a little, his phone appearing before my face. “Look at them from just a few minutes ago.” He pulls up our brief, impromptu photo shoot and I will admit that, with the three of our faces pressed together, they look an awful lot like smaller versions of me, blonde hair and all.

“Well, seeing as how I did the hard part, it’s only fair they get to look like me.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining. I love your face. I love that our girls look like their mother. It just really hit me tonight. Tiny carbon copies.”

“They still have your smile. Always will.”

He kisses the side of my head, wrapping his arms around me as I toss his phone of the coffee table. “It’s still a little surreal.”

“What’s that? Being married to me? You can’t get over it—I know.”

“Ah, yes—the glamorous life of being married to a middle-age workaholic. The mind reels.”

He makes a noise—irritated or shocked, I’m not entirely sure—and clears his throat. “You were saying something is surreal?”

I chuckle, pulling my legs underneath me so I can turn into his side. “Being homeowners.”

“We were homeowners before. The apartment is ours.”

“It’s not the same and you know it. Living in this house is much different than our old place. Just seems like such a grown up thing to do, you know?”

“We do a lot of grown up things,” he whispers into my ear, making me laugh as I flick his side.

“You’re such a pig.”

“You know it,” he answers, making a snuffling noise against my face. We actually still own the apartment. We talked about selling it but we’re in a good enough financial position—thanks in part to Josh’s trust funds—that we could hang onto it while buying a new place. Truthfully, my mother-in-law has been making comments on and off for the last couple of years about wishing she lived closer to her grandchildren, even going so far as to “casually” mention the various apartments and retirement communities in the general vicinity, but her being able to move into our old apartment might be the easiest solution. I love Alice about as much as I love my own mother, but I don’t know how I feel about having her around all the time. On the other hand, it’d be good for Hannah and Becca to have her nearby, and I don’t think Josh hates the idea of having his mom closer. I don’t begrudge him that, and I could certainly have a worse in-law than Alice Lyman. She doesn’t hate my guts like a stereotypical Jewish mother might and she’s always been good to me. So while that’s up in the air, we’ve decided to rent out the apartment. It’s a strange process but at least it won’t be sitting empty until we get around to doing something with it.

“You want your present now?” he asks, pulling my earlobe into his mouth.

“Is it you naked? Because while I appreciate the thought…”

“Now who’s the pig? Your present is a regular present, not some body part of mine wrapped in a bow.”

I snicker at him. “As titillating a thought as that is…” I pat his thigh and push myself up, yawning loudly. “Sorry. I’ll be right back.”

As I shuffle into the kitchen, Josh calls out, “What—are you getting a snack first?”

“No.” Though that doesn’t sound bad. “I hid your present in here.”

Within moments I hear him scurry into the room with me. “You hid my present in the kitchen?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because I knew you’d never find it in here.”

He squeaks and I turn from the cabinet, pulling a package out with me. “I don’t like the implications of that.”

I reach out and run my fingers down his cheek, tugging at his chin playfully. “I just mean between being so busy the last couple of weeks and that you have specific places you look for things in here, there are lots of other places I can put something that you won’t come across. I’m not implying you don’t do your share. I just know you pretty well by now.”

“Humph.” He opens up the pantry, disappearing for a few seconds before emerging with a gift of his own. “And here I thought I was being so creative with hiding places.”

I burst out laughing, taking a few steps toward him so I can wrap my arms around him. “I love you.” Our lips meet for a few long moments and it still makes my insides flutter. It may have taken us forever to get to this part of our relationship and we may just be a boring old couple now with little kids but we’ve still got it, even if the rest of the world never sees it. I’m still wildly in love with him even if I don’t get to be as frantic about it as I was when we first got together. The only thing I’d change about our relationship is that I wish we’d been together longer. Working together was great and I learned a lot, but this simple domesticity we have now is much better.

Either way, I’m glad we have what we have, even if it took us most of a decade to get it.

“Great minds, huh?” he whispers against my lips.

“How long has that been in there? Because I go in there on a regular basis.”

“How about you don’t worry about it?”

“Kill joy.” I kiss him again before we pull apart. We exchange packages and I notice with amusement that they’re roughly the same size.

Josh chuckles, noticing the same thing. “Wouldn’t it be funny if we got each other the same thing?”

“Highly unlikely but it would be pretty entertaining.” We look at each other and he sighs, gesturing for me to go first.

“I suppose the mother of my children can have the honor.”

I grin at him broadly, trying to restrain myself from tearing into the gift. It only lasts for a couple of seconds before I send paper and ribbons flying. This is one of my absolute favorite parts of the holiday with Josh. There’s always one present you can’t wait to give to a person—it’s inevitable. Sometimes it’s something personal, sometimes it’s expensive, sometimes it’s just something you know someone else will appreciate. Josh has always been good about that, even back when we worked together. Another one of his odd skills. Plus, it’s a little moment just for the two of us, and we don’t get a lot of those anymore.

I get to the box under the paper and look at it speculatively, as if I’m going to be able to decipher it just by concentrating. The box is thin and very light so it really could be anything.

“Would you just…” The anticipation kills Josh. He hates when I draw it out, even though he understands why I do it.

I giggle at is impatience and open the box. My forehead crinkles when I move the tissue paper and find an envelope. “Honey, I love you and I know it’s not about the presents, but if you’ve given me a card, we’re getting divorced.”

“Yeah, I’d like to see you try to get rid of me,” he answers with a laugh. “Maybe you should try opening the envelope before you pass judgment.”

I give him my best put upon sigh and open it up, feeling more confused when I pull out a tourist brochure. I bite my tongue before I can ask any more questions, looking into the envelope again. Inside is a shiny piece of paper that says, “Your vacation in Hawaii.” “Josh…what is this?”

“What does it look like?”

“It looks a little bit like you’re rubbing my face in our trip eight years ago.”

He shrugs, grinning from ear to ear. “Look a little closer, baby.”

I look at the itinerary again, my eyes widening when I see that it’s dated for January…a month from now. “What the hell is this?”

“We haven’t been on a vacation—a real, honest-to-God vacation—since our honeymoon. I know how that sounds coming from me of all people but I kind of like getting away from life with you. I don’t think visiting our parents for a couple of days at a time counts as a vacation. Since neither of us is starting at our new jobs until February, I thought this would be a good time to take some time. My mom said she’d come and stay with the girls—so did your parents—but I’ve only put a deposit down on it right now. We can change it to bring the girls with us, or switch it to somewhere more child-friendly, or if you’d feel better, we don’t have to go anywhere.”

I can’t help it—my eyes fill with tears. I don’t know if I’d realized it’d been that long since we’d taken a vacation—long before Becca was born. After she came along, survival was the key; after Hannah, a vacation became being able to go to the bathroom without an audience. I truly haven’t thought about going anywhere other than to visit their grandparents in forever and I certainly never entertained the idea that we could go somewhere without them. Even now, it’s a little daunting to imagine it. Part of me would love to get away with my husband for a while, but my kids are still so small and neither of us has been away from them for any real length of time and never the two of us at once. I do also know it’s okay and important for couples to take vacations without their kids and with our new jobs, we’ll have a lot more time to take them places, not to mention it’ll get easier to do that as they get older. It’s not as if we’d be leaving them with strangers—whether it’s Josh’s mom or her with my parents, they all know what they’re doing and very clearly want the job.

“You really want to go to Hawaii again?”

“Hell yeah I do. It feels like that’s where my life really began and I’d love to see it again with you. Like I said, if you want the kids to come with us, we could do that, too.”

“It doesn’t make me a terrible mom to say that I’d really like for them to not be there, right?”

He chuckles, putting his hands on my hips. “As long as it doesn’t mean I’m a bad father because I want a childfree vacation, too.”

I laugh a little with him. “Can I think it over for a couple of days? I want to make sure I’m emotionally equipped to abandon our children for…” I look down at the paperwork again, noticing for the first time that the travel brochures are for parts of Hawaii that we didn’t see last time. “Eight days. Eight days?”

“We have some time and I thought you’d like to not rush it. Maybe we could spend two or three days sleeping.”

Bastard. Dangling uninterrupted sleep in my face like that. He’s mostly sold me on the idea on that premise alone.

“Take some time to think about it, though,” he says. “It’s tough to think about leaving the girls for that long.”

I nod, running my fingers over the travel itinerary. “This is such a wonderful idea, though, honey. No matter what happens, I love that you thought of it.” I throw my arms around him, hugging him tightly. “Thank you. I love you.”

He tightens his hold on my, burying his face in my neck. “I love you. And I know it’s going to sound incredibly sappy but thank you so much for the last eight years. The nine before it were pretty good, too, but…being with you is the best thing that could happen to me. Our life is pretty amazing and I really can’t wait for more of it. A trip to Hawaii feels like a drop in the bucket compared to the happiness you’ve given me.”

I sniffle, tightening my grip on him. He may not be a speechwriter, but he definitely has a way with words. “Josh, you’re killing me.”

“Sorry,” he answers, no remorse in his voice as he kisses my neck. “I’ll go back to being an insensitive jerk.”

“Much better,” I answer, squeezing him one more time before I step back. I grab a paper towel and dab at my face, handing Josh his gift from where he dropped it on the counter, probably during one of my crying fits. “Here—take this. It might not compare to Hawaii but it’s all I’ve got.”

He grins, tearing into the paper. He lifts the top off the box, raising his eyebrows at the contents. “Picture frame. Face down. Deliberate, I’d say.”

I roll my eyes as I gather our demolished wrapping paper and shove it into the trashcan. “Who are you channeling today—Sherlock Holmes or Inspector Clouseau?”

He ignores me, stroking his chin speculatively. “Face down…face down. That means you want the element of surprise. Is it…something of an erotic nature? Did you get boudoir pictures done?” His eyes grow wide as he looks up at me, his expression so hopeful that I hate to disappoint him.

“Josh—when have I _ever_ expressed an interest in posing in the nude or my underwear?”

“But, like, you could have done it for _me_ , right? Even if it doesn’t interest you, I know you know I’d like it.”

The guy looks seriously crestfallen. “You know you can see me naked any time you want, right? That’s one of the perks of our relationship—nudity.”

“Okay, so, pictures of you like that aren’t about being naked in a picture, or scantily clad or whatever—it’s a confidence thing. Being immortalized forever, this blonde goddess showing off her body for her adoring husband…” he trails off, a glazed over look in his eyes as he shivers. “It’s hot.”

After eight years and two kids together, it’s almost hard to believe that just the thought of me posing for pictures like that gets him so hot and bothered. One would think he’d seen enough of the less exotic side of womanhood that he’d want to sleep in separate beds. Then again, I never have any trouble turning him on; despite his advancing years, he has the ability to have sex like someone half his age. His eyes still rake over me like he’s never seen a woman naked before, even when I’m fully clothed. I suppose when you find the right partner, you’ll always think they’re glorious. While I know that, logically, Josh is getting older and he has more lines and gray hairs, I still think he’s as adorable as the day we met. He’s still full of the same youth and vigor as he was almost twenty years ago when we met; he can still strike fear in the hearts of republicans. So, I suppose I can understand where he’s coming from with the bedroom pictures, even if I’d never post for something like that.

“Well, I’m sorry to tell you that you’ve guess wrong. If you’d care to actually flip the frame over, though…”

“Wait, wait—I’m not done guessing.” I sigh and lean against the counter. And he complains about me taking my time unwrapping gifts. “Is it a picture of the girls? Did you take them somewhere and get pictures done? Or are they on Santa’s lap?”

“Josh…” While that’s not what this is, I did actually take them to visit Santa before they saw him at the White House today—we both wanted them to have the experience, even if Josh wasn’t able to make it due to work—another bonus to working in the private sector is that we’ll miss fewer of those moments. At any rate, I tool them a week ago and both were surprisingly calm as they sat on the big guy’s lap. The picture has been in a frame on the shelf since then and Josh has yet to notice. At least he’s pretty. I’ll have to point it out to him soon.

“Am I warm at all?”

“Well, you’re warmer with this guess than with me in my underwear. Are you done yet?”

He pinches his lower lip thoughtfully, staring down at the back of the picture frame like it’s a matter of honor that he guesses its contents before he flips it over. “Hmmm…”

I reach over and grab the frame. “I’m going to do it for you.”

He bats my hand away, giving me an indignant look. “Give me a second! Is it…some picture from our wedding? Something I haven’t seen? Is it my face when I first saw you walking toward me?”

“No, but I wish it was. That would have been great.”

“Okay, well, I’m stumped.”

“Okay, well, you weren’t supposed to play twenty questions, so any day now, precious.”

Finally, with great flourish, he flips the frame. An instant later it falls out of his hands and back into the box. His head whips up to meet my gaze, his mouth flopping open a few times. “Donna…”

“Yes?”

“This is a…”

“It is.”

“And it’s a new one?”

“Yes.”

“But…but…we just started trying.”

I shrug, picking up the framed sonogram picture. “I know.”

“How far—I mean…”

“About three months.”

His mouth flops open a few more times, making him look a bit like a fish. “Three months? Have we even been trying that long?”

“Around that. I might have been pregnant when we started.”

“How long have you known?”

“Almost two weeks. Longest two weeks of my life.”

He still looks flummoxed and it’s nice to know I can still surprise him. “What—how…how?”

“My regular checkup was a couple of weeks ago,” I answer. “I had no idea. I hadn’t missed any periods or anything. I told my doctor that we’d decided to try to have one more so she gave me the rundown of all the extra risks due to my age.” He winces at that because my getting older has probably hit him harder than his own aging. Turning forty and deciding to try to have another baby required a lot of soul searching from both of us. Our ages are a huge concern honestly, but the fact that we already have two of them that are so young made us think adding another one wouldn’t be as bad as if this was our first. Either way, we knew it might take some time to conceive, especially after it seemed to take so long with Hannah, so we gave ourselves a year to see what would happen. We figured nothing would come of it and then we’d address other options—not fertility treatments, but maybe look into adoption or fostering.

After I told my doctor about our efforts—and she’d collected my samples—it took her about three seconds to announce my expectant status and laugh at my shock. She gave me a sonogram that same day with strict instructions to come back within a month to make sure all continues to be well. Fortunately, the only thing that makes me high risk right now is my age, but better safe than sorry.

“How are you doing over there?” I ask him when I notice his eyes have glazed over.

“This isn’t some sick joke, is it? We’re really having another baby?”

“I wouldn’t joke about this,” I answer. “Many things, but not this.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“That happened _fast_ ,” he says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, making me roll my eyes in slight disgust.

“You’re such an animal, you know that?”

He shrugs, completely unabashed. “I’m just saying. It takes someone pretty manly to get his wife pregnant so quickly.”

“Oh, my God!”

He just laughs and grabs my hips, pulling me to him. “Are we crazy? Having another one?”

“Yes. Yes, we’re definitely insane. What’s one more, right?”

“Right,” he answers, kissing me slowly. Even though we talked about this and made the decision together, it’s still a huge relief to hear him be happy about it—make it easier for me to feel excited about all of this. “Hey,” he says, pulling back suddenly. “Since we’re dealing with my super sperm here, should I, I don’t know…should I get a vasectomy? If you’re going to be so easy to knock up?”

“Super sperm? Really? That’s charming.”

“I’m very virile. Next time it could be as easy as me looking at you and you get pregnant.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Well, I don’t know if you should do that until after this one is born, just in case.”

He tilts his head. “So we could have a replacement baby?”

“Oh, God, no! No, all I meant was we should wait until all is well before we make that choice. I don’t know that I’d want to try again if something…” I trail off, not even willing to say it. “I just wouldn’t want you to put yourself through that if the worst happened and then we decided to try again. You’re in no danger of getting me pregnant again right now so let’s just hold off. We’ll talk again after the baby.” I grab onto his biceps, squeezing a little. “Hey—you’d be willing to do that? Get a vasectomy, I mean.”

“Well, it’s a lot less invasive a procedure than yours would be.”

“Yeah, but…don’t guys usually balk at those procedures?”

“As long as I can still have sex with you, it doesn’t bother me. Despite my earlier peacocking, my masculinity isn’t actually tied to my sperm count. It’s not like I’m planning to have kids with someone else, so there’s no need to keep that particular part of my plumbing active. After all this is over, if you want to get the procedure done for yourself, that’s entirely up to you and I’ll support you one way or another, but if one of us is going to do it, I should think it’d be me.”

I’m positive it’s all the extra hormones chugging through my system but that whole thing—especially him saying he’s not planning on having kids with anyone else—actually makes me cry. Well, sob, really. It’s fairly embarrassing.

Josh’s eyes widen in alarm for a few moments before he gathers me into his arms. “How could I forget about this part?” he whispers against my hair.

“It’s your fault,” I sniffle. “I’m a hormonal mess because of you.”

“And don’t you forget it.” He pulls back, cupping my face in his hands for a few moments before they drift down to my belly. “Wow,” he whispers, his fingers running reverently across me. “Three months. How’d we manage that?”

“Is it too sentimental of me to say it must’ve been meant to be?”

He laughs, leaning in to give me a quick kiss. “I think we have the right to be sentimental right now. It’s pretty incredible.” He stretches out his arm, grabbing the sonogram picture again. “Three kids. We _must_ be insane. God, and we’re going to have to tell the girls. How do you think they’re going to take it?”

“I don’t know that either of them will entirely get it, at least not the way older kids would. They’ll deal with it. They’ll like the new baby or they’ll have zero interest. I’m not sure how my new job will take the news, though. I don’t think they’ll fire me on the spot or anything, but they might not be terribly interested in keeping me around.”

Josh makes a face. “We’ll figure it out, one way or another. And you know a ton of lawyers if they try to pull any discrimination crap on you.” He pauses before chuckling, shaking his head. “I think right now I’m most worried about telling our parents. I can practically hear my mother yelling, ‘Enough already! Give the poor girl a break!’” I can’t help but laugh, too—his impersonation of his mother is dead on. “Should we tell them when we talk to them tomorrow?”

“Probably. I’m sure they’ll be happy for us regardless.”

He smiles in response, kissing me again. “I think I’m still a little…shocked by this but I can’t tell you how happy I am. Best Christmas present ever.”

I laugh, nodding in agreement. “Agreed.” I press my forehead against his, sighing deeply, happily. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll finally get a boy.”

He pulls back, a little startled. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you want a son? Don’t all guys want a son? Someone to pass the torch to? Teach him about baseball and how to make republicans cry?”

“Donna…I’m not angling for a boy. Is that what you thought I wanted out of a third child?”

“No, I just thought you’d see it as a bonus.”

“Hon, I don’t care at all about having a boy rather than another girl. You think I’m not planning to teach Hannah and Becca how to crush their opposition or that the Mets are the greatest team in history? I’ve spent nearly twenty years watching you be the smartest, most amazing and capable human being on the planet; I didn’t teach you anything differently because you’re a woman, right? I don’t want our girls growing up thinking they shouldn’t learn things or know things they’re not boys and I’m certainly not going to make them feel like if they’d been boys, I would have done things differently. We’re trying to make the world a better place for our kids, right? It needs to start with us. We need them to know that everyone is equal. They don’t need limits. If I knew how to work on cars, I’d teach ‘em that, too. I want our daughters to be completely self-sufficient people who only find husbands or partners or whatever who make them happy, not people who’ll take care of things we didn’t deem them worthy enough to learn. If we wind up with another girl, that’s fine by me. I’ll be thrilled. I love our girls.”

My eyes grow misty again and I cup his cheeks, running my thumbs over his lips. “My husband the feminist.”

“Always.”

“Well, if we have another girl, we’ll be that much closer to becoming the Bartlets, and there are worse things in the world.”

“So, is this why you’re up in the air about Hawaii? Because they still let pregnant women into Hawaii. You’ll just have to take it easy on the Mai Tai’s this time around.”

“Yeah, yeah—I’m on a strict virgin pina colada diet right now. But yes, the pregnancy is part of it. I don’t know that my doctor will object to my traveling but it’s still a long way to go on a plane while pregnant. Mostly, though, I’m just up in the air about leaving the girls. I don’t want them to freak out because we’re both gone at the same time…maybe I’m worried that I’m the one who’ll freak out because I’m not near them.”

He smiles in sympathy, nodding. “I know. I know it’ll be tough, but it’s supposed to be good for all of us to spend time apart, plus it’ll give the girls time with at least one grandparent. We can call and Skype. Remember, this’ll probably be the last chance we have to get away for another couple of years. Becca and Hannah are old enough to not need just us as much as they used to but once the baby comes, it’ll be at least another two years before we’re in this position again.”

“You really want to go to Hawaii, don’t you?”

“I really want to see you in a bikini again.”

I burst out laughing, clamping my hand over my mouth a second later as I remember that our kids are sleeping upstairs. It’s not likely that a few bursts of laughter will wake them, but since Santa still has to visit, it’s better safe than sorry.

Speaking of the man in red… “I still need to think about it. My answer is probably yes but let’s get through tomorrow and go from there.”

“Fair enough,” he answers. He slides his hands around my waist, pulling me closer. “God, you’re beautiful.”

“Stop it.”

“Hey, I’m serious! You’re absolutely stunning and I’m not just saying that because you’re all pregnant and stuff.”

“I guess you’re holding up pretty well, too.”

He looks like he’s gearing up for an argument, ready to let me know that he’s done better than just hold up, but the fight goes out of him almost as quickly as it arrived. “Eh, whatever. As long as you keep me around.” He presses his forehead to mine. “I’m so happy about the baby,” he whispers. Before I can respond he fuses his mouth to mine, almost knocking me over with the intensity of the kiss. I do let myself get lost in it for a while—this is the sort of thing that could easily tip the scales in favor of a vacation. We could do this—a lot of this—without two little faces popping up out of the blue.

With regret I push at his shoulders, forcing his lips from mine. “C’mon, super sperm; we still have a lot of work to do before we can call it a night.”

He looks bummed out for a few seconds before his face lights up like the tree in the living room. “Yeah! Let’s go make Christmas for our girls!”

**Author's Note:**

> The Holiday Armadillo strikes again. I just couldn’t help myself. I hope you all enjoy, and Happy Holidays to those of you celebrating, and have a great week to those who don’t! I just finished typing up a story that has soooooo much editing that needs to be done, but look for that in the new year.


End file.
